The Gala
by hotforteacher
Summary: For their fourth wedding anniversary, Shelagh and Patrick are spending their only kid-free night of the year at a gala... Not if Patrick has anything to do with it.


**Set mid-season seven, just as the big freeze is thawing.**

 **I don't know about anyone else, but I was disappointed by the lack of Patrick/ Shelagh moments in this season.**

 **Not to mention, I thought Laura's character was dressed in some oversized suits. I know it was the style at that time, but she looked a bit frumpy.**

 **Thank goodness for fanfic where we can fix these slight oversights! ;D Inspiration for her dress is from 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'.**

 **Also, thank you for all those who read, faved, followed, or commented on 'To Whom my Soul'. You guys are simply amazing!**

 **I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

"Good evening, Doctor," Sister Julienne greets him at the front door of Nonnatus House.

He smiles back accordingly, despite the bitter taste of having a tuxedo choking his throat. "Good evening, Sister." He pulls on the collar to help the air flow. "Thank you again for agreeing to watch Angela and Teddy for the evening."

"They have been nothing but charming," she closes the door and stands next to him in front of the stair case. "If my memory serves me right, both your children as well as Sister Monica Joan are currently being entertained by 'The Flinstones'."

"Yes, well hopefully this gala will be done and dusted by the time 'Animal Magic' comes on." He sweeps his finger under his collar once again and murmurs under his breath, "At least I hope so."

"Are you not looking forward to your evening?"

Her concern sets his teeth on edge. "I'm looking forward to spending time with Shelagh, however, I was not hoping to do it at a stuffy party with men congratulating themselves on all of their meager accomplishments." He closes his eyes and heaves a deep sigh, "I'm sorry, Sister. It's just I would rather, umm, I would rather…," _I would rather spend it alone with my wife on our anniversary_ , he flusters a bright pink shade.

"Ah. You would rather spend it with your family," she finishes for him with a friendly smile to boot.

 _No_! "Yes."

"Well don't you clean up nicely, Doctor," Sister Winifred jovially exclaims as she climbs down the steps. "Mrs. Turner wanted me to let you know that she will be down soon." She stops to congregate with the small group. "I feel rather bad for her. She has been running around ragged with both her duties as a mum and as a nurse filling in."

The door behind them opens and briskly closes to keep the warm, spring air out. "I say, Doctor," Trixie smiles brightly as all three turn towards her, "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tuxedo before."

Sister Winifred looks to him with wide eyes, "Not even for your wedding?"

He shrugs his shoulders as the silence awkwardly settles on the small group in the foyer. "A gray suit, I'm afraid." He turns back towards the stairs, wishing and praying for Shelagh to hurry.

"At least you wore a nice suit," Valerie calls out as she munches on a biscuit. "My uncle wore the clothes from his stag party. Apparently, he woke up and made it just in time for my auntie to walk down the aisle."

Trixie gasps, "No!"

"I'm afraid so," Valarie snickers into her half eaten cookie. "My auntie said that kissing him was like kissing a drunk fish."

Lucile sticks her head out from around the corner, "How would she know how a drunk fish tasted like?"

Valarie furrows her brow in deep thought. "You know, that's a good question." She smiles brightly, "But I'm sure it would be a fantastic story," and finishes her biscuit in one bite.

Patrick bites down on his bottom lip to keep from rolling his eyes. _How did I get in the mess of being surrounded but nuns and nurses chatting about what drunk fish taste like and the suit I wore to the wedding?_

"Are you excited for your night out, Doctor?"

 _No_. Sister Winifred's voice is too damn jolly for the mood that he is currently in. _Smile, Patrick. Just smile._

However, before he can say a word, Sister Julienne speaks up for him, "He would rather spend the evening with his family."

"Awww," the women around him chorus perfectly in pitch together.

 _I would rather spend the evening with my wife on top of me in our bed,_ he silently mutters in his mind. _Smile, Patrick. Just smile_.

"Well, it's not every day that you get to dress up and go out for the evening," Trixie kindly replies.

"You two deserve it for all of the work you put in to this community," Lucile gently pats him on the shoulder.

For a tiny moment, Patrick feels bad for thinking some of those selfish thoughts. Until…

"Is this a congregation of some sort that no one had apprised me of," Phylis makes her way down the hall with a book in one hand and glasses in the other.

Glancing up towards the ceiling, he presses his lips together to keep from saying something he knows he will regret. _Bloody hell! What is bloody well is taking her so long?_

"He is waiting for Mrs. Turner," Sister Winifred starts.

"They are going to a gala tonight," Trixie wistfully supplies.

"Yet, he would rather stay home with his family," Valarie finishes.

"Hmm," Phylis folds her book and glasses against her chest, "I imagine after he gets a look of her dress, he will be singing a different tune."

"Why is that?" Lucile innocently asks.

"I offered to steam it when she was called out to the Docker residence." Phylis glances up towards the stairs, worry edging along her voice. "It was rather a low cut piece, far lower than I'm sure Mrs. Turner is used to."

Patrick's mouth dries at just the image of how low cut her dress can really be. Shoving his hands into his pocket, he wishes – for the millionth time – that he had a cigarette.

"It's black, correct?" Trixie turns to Phylis. "She told me that the original dress that she was going to wear was not the right color; that she had misread the invitation."

"I'm sure whatever she has chosen to wear, will be beautiful," Sister Julienne assures all of the women in the room.

Whatever nonsense conversation he was listening to begins to drown in a high-pitched sound – like a kettle sounding off or a train whistle – when he sees her. Starting from her shoes, his eyes works it's way up along the long lines of her body. Her curves – _far more delicious than anything I have tasted_ – is accentuated by her black dress tightening around all the right areas.

Absentmindedly fixing one of her earrings, Shelagh carefully steps down the stairs, still unaware of the crowd that lays at the bottom. "Patrick, I'm sorry that I'm – oh!" She looks at all the eager faces staring up at her. "Greetings."

Trixie is the first to speak. "I think I speak for all of us that you simply look radiant."

Shelagh's cheeks flame a deep red as she settles in front of Patrick. "This was all put together at the last minute."

"You look like Audrey Hepburn from that movie, umm," Valerie presses her finger against her mouth in thought.

"'Breakfast at Tiffany's'," Sister Winifred dreamily replies. "I, umm, saw pictures in a magazine once," she murmurs under the reproachful eye of Sister Julienne.

Shelagh threads her fingers around Patrick's arm and quietly asks, "Are you ready to go?"

Her touch electrifies his idled mind and reminds him to take in oxygen. His eyes, once again, takes charge and roams along the breath of her body. The sight of her in this dress is overloading the logical side of his mind responsible for speech.

Then all at once, a need, so great, so powerful, crashes into him with such force that he nearly topples to the ground. _I have to get her home. I have touch her, taste her, love her as wildly as she makes my heart beat_.

He slips his hand into hers and tugs her towards the door, paying no mind to the people standing in his way.

Just as his palm cover the door knob, a voice calls out from behind him, "From a little spark may burst a flame," followed by a high screeched, "Daddy! Mummy!"

 _The children_ , his mind urgently screams. He takes a deep breath to calm his libido before he turns the kids to give them their hugs and kisses for the night.

However, his presence is no use when they see their mother. Both are mesmerized by the sight of her in her dress. "Mummy, you look so cute!" Angela lets go of Sister Monica Joan's habit and dives through the crowd. "Doesn't mummy look cute?" She wraps her arms around Shelagh's legs and glances up, still in awe. "You more bootiful than dolly."

Shelagh leans down to kiss Angela before reaching out for Teddy. "Mummy and daddy have to go to the party. You mind your manners for Sister Julienne." She nuzzles against his chubby cheeks, "Now give daddy a kiss and hug, too." She passes their son off to Patrick before turning to the ladies still surrounding them. "Thank you again for watching the children. We shall be here to pick them up no later than eleven o'clock."

"Take your time and enjoy yourselves," Sister Julienne smiles.

"We love you," Patrick murmurs as he kisses his daughter on the cheek under a robust round of giggles.

Once the last minute snuggles were given and the children were handed off, Patrick grabs Shelagh's hand and makes a break for the door.

Just as he turns the knob, Phylis yells out, "Wait," as she races down the stairs. "For such a momentous occasion, I had thought you wanted me to take your photograph."

By this point, Patrick was ready to scream, yet it was his wife's soothing voice that said, "That sounds lovely." They turned back around and smiled for the camera. "Thank you, Phylis, that was mighty – oomph – kind."

Patrick had her out the door before anyone else could stop them and climbing down the steps before any distractions could be made – propriety and kindness be damned. Seeing to it that she was safely in the car, he runs around to the drivers side and clumsily slides in with a knot to his head. Paying no mind to the pain that blinds him, he starts the car and whisks them away, with Nonnatus House safely reflected in his review mirror.

Her giggle, light and hidden behind her hand, pulls him from his thoughts. "What?"

"I had never seen you so quick to get out of there."

He rolls his eyes, "It was like they wanted us to stay and talk about colors and fish. It was driving me mad."

"I think you growled when Phylis came down with her camera."

He rolled his eyes again as he turned down the familiar street. "I just wanted to leave."

She demurely smiles at him, setting flame to his skin. "I could tell. You were – Patrick? Where are we going? The gala is in the opposite direction."

"I'm not taking you to that stupid thing." At her huff, he quickly adds, "I didn't want to go in the first place. And now with you in that dress, looking beautiful as ever, all the men are going to be pompous enough to ask you to dance with them all night."

"There's nothing wrong with a little dancing," she teases.

"The only man who is going to have their hands all over you tonight, my dear, will be me." His words came out in such a rush, he didn't have time to fully think about the effects they would have on her until silence screams loudly between them.

"Patrick," her husky voice is a mixture between sympathy and control, "if your car is seen at home, then the nuns will think that we were lying."

His grips the steering wheel, "Then I'll take you to a hotel."

"For a few hours? Patrick, they'll think that you're a John paying for sex."

She is trying to reason against his defiance, but there is none – _especially when she just said the word 'sex'_ – however, he is starting to run out of ideas. "Then… then… I'll…," a brilliant plan comes to mind, "then I will take you somewhere secluded. We can bring a blanket and we can lay under the stars." He hears his tummy growling and adds, "We can turn it into a picnic."

She bites down on her lip, which does nothing but to fuel his desire to have her, and murmurs, "While your plan is magnificent, it's starting to rain."

"Bloody hell!" He pulls the car over next to an abandoned factory that the city is about to condemn. He wants to feel her, needs to touch a sacred inch of her skin.

Just as he turns to her, she threads her fingers around his neck and crashes her lips onto his. He can feel the fire in her desire as she captures and fists his tie to keep him close.

Her lips, so impossibly soft, makes him dizzy. Beauty in colors, and light, and love, and everything else around him blossoms into something spectacular. He doesn't want to leave, never. He needs her, now, more than ever before.

"Pawick," she muffles through their shared lips. She tries to pull away, but with their bodies melded together, she doesn't find much success.

"No, shhh…," he pulls away with just enough distance to tilt her chin back and to capture a spot just below her ear that he had found long ago that drives her wild. The rain, which is coming down hard, beats in time to his thundering heart.

"Ohhh, Patrick," his name rolls off her tongue like fine silk, "I didn't… hmmm… I want you, despite all of my… ohhhh… despite all of my excuses."

"I want you," he murmurs along her excited skin, "I want you, now." Giving her one more nip, he grudgingly pulls away to survey his surroundings. With both the torrential downpour as well as the fact that this particular area of Poplar is in the middle of being condemned, he knows that they would not be interrupted. _Yet_ , his mind logically supplies, _there is not enough room up here to accommodate both of us._

"Patrick?" Her voice, sweeter than all the honey in the world, pulls him from his own thoughts.

 _It's time to be a man of action._ "Right," he takes out the umbrella from underneath his seat and gives her a cheeky smile before opening his door. Quickly pushing up the umbrella, he runs to her side and opens the door. "Come, quickly!" His voice scratches from the cooler nip in the air, but she follows his directions. Once she is out, he closes the front door and opens the back. Leaving the umbrella out, he turns to his wife with the cheekiest of grins.

"What if someone catches us?" Her worry is etched along the curve of her brow and he confesses only to himself, that he finds it cute.

"Who is crazy enough to walk out in this rain?"

She rolls her eyes, "Apparently, we are," she leans in and kisses his wet cheek. "Now that our evening wear is completely ruined, what do you suppose we should do?"

Twirling so that he faces her, his hand rests on her exposed knee while his thumb draws circles along the sharp curve. "I can think of so many things to do." Being far bolder than the cheek he threw at her earlier, he slips his hand between her legs. He coyly smiles at her surprised grasp, "The first being helping you take off this dress without ripping it."

"The zipper," she moans along his ear, "is on the side."

Wrapping his hand around her thigh, he pulls her onto his legs. Quickly finding the zipper, he tugs it down and sweeps his hand underneath the fabric along her ribs.

Taking advantage of their position, she once again claims his lips. He knows it's not the most comfortable position for her, but she does not seem to mind herself, especially when her hand sneaks down between their bodies and cups his erection within her palm.

Desperation now sizzles between them as the rain pelts against the steel of his car.

He pulls the hem of her dress up and takes it off of her body in one swoop. Throwing it down onto the floor, he wraps his arms around her body, reveling in the touch of her skin. His tongue teases her nipple that is desperate to peak out from the edge of her black strapless bra as his fingers reach down under the top of her matching panties to squeeze her ass. In a more recent discovery, he has found that she prefers that over him roughly playing with her breast.

"Lift up," he looks down between their bodies to see that she has already unbuckled and unzipped him. She pushes herself up to give him the room so that he can shove his pants and boxers down until they reach his ankles. Pressing herself down on top of him, he can feel her shiver against his chest.

Slipping his hand down, he pulls her panties to the side and runs his thumb along her clit.

Her hips jerk against him as her head falls back.

Gripping her hip with his other hand, he guides her down on top of him.

Both groan in pleasure.

With the help of his hands, she begins to canter her hips, heating the car to sweltering levels. "Ohhh," she dives into the crook of his neck, lightly biting down on the lobe of his ear.

His thumb circles along her clit, driving her thrust faster and faster. The pleasure he feels building blinds him, resorting him to use his other senses as they both climb to their peaks.

She is the first to climax, shuddering under the expertise of his thumb and yelling out his name within the steamy confines of the car.

Her nails are the last straw in his chase towards his orgasm. They scratch along the base of his neck just as she tightens around him. Pulling her hips down onto his, he mumbles her name against her damp skin as he comes.

Both, spent and sated, collapse against each other, the rain and their shared heartbeats are the only sounds that permeates their little slice of heaven.

Patrick gently kisses the top of her ear, "I am so in love with you."

She giggles against his shoulder, "Even after all this time?"

He runs his fingers down her spine, eliciting a small quiver from her. "Especially after all this time." He leans back and captures her cheeks within his palms, "Before I fell in love with you, I was never a religious man. After meeting you on that foggy road, I gladly thank God on bend and knee every day that you are in my life."

"Five years ago, I would have not believed anyone if they had told me where I would be on this day, at this time." She grins as she kisses the tip of his nose. "A beautiful black evening dress thrown hazardously to the side, in the GP's car, shagging him like lovesick teenager."

"After Mariann died, I never thought I would be here as well." He lovingly kisses her, taking his time to show her the love that runs rampant in his heart. "I love you."

"Hmmm," Shelagh runs her hands along his covered chest, "let's go home, Patrick, and spend the rest of our anniversary in bed." Climbing off of him with a groan at the loss, she reaches down and gathers her dress as he pulls up his pants.

"What happened to not wanting the nuns to think that we are liars?" He reaches out and zips up her wrinkled dress.

"We'll blame it on the rainstorm."

Stealing a kiss, he opens the door and pulls her out. Their umbrella long gone, due to the wind, is no help as he tries to shield her body from the cooler rain.

Yet, instead of rushing back in, Shelagh twirls around and steals her own kiss. The lightning crackling across the dark sky is the only thing that pulls her away from him to seek shelter in the front seat of the car.

When Patrick finally climbs in the driver's side, both soaking wet bodies tumble into a heap of laughs at the sight of each other.

..::..::..

"Oh dear, I hope that Doctor and Mrs. Turner didn't get caught in this rainstorm." Sister Winifred looks to the windows with wide eyes. "The radio has called for rain for the rest of the night."

Trixie giggles under her breath, "I hope for Doctor Turner's sake, they did get caught in the rainstorm somewhere… conducive."

"They seem like they love each other very much," Lucille calls from her perch near Sister Monica Joan.

"Their love was written in silence, bloomed in tragedy, and cultivated within the arms of passion," Sister Monica Joan murmurs against a book.

"I forget sometimes that Shelagh Turner used to be Sister Bernadette," Valerie grins to the ladies around her, "it even shocked my auntie and nothing shocks her."

Lucille gasps, "Mrs. Turner used to be a nun?"

"I found it hard to swallow myself, lass," Phylis smiles, "yet, when I had discovered a photograph album, there it was, as plain as day, in black and white. Sister Bernadette standing next to Sister Evangelina and Sister Julienne at their old abode."

"I just received a phone call from Doctor Turner," Sister Julienne walks into the sitting room with the other nurses and nuns. "With the rainstorm, they will be unable to pick up the children."

Valerie and Trixie look at each other before resolving into a fit of giggles.

Sister Julienne looks confused as Sister Winifred asks, "What's so funny?"

Trixie is the first to come up for air, "It was pretty obvious that we were going to get that phone call."

"We already put the Turner kids down half an hour ago in Sister Mary Cynthia's old room," Valerie finishes.

Sister Julienne's blushes a bright red, "It is their wedding anniversary."

"I'll be surprised if they even made it to the gala," Trixie cheekily calls out, "especially after the way he was looking at her when she came down the stairs in that positively gorgeous dress."

"I thought I heard him growl when I had suggested taking their photograph," Phylis joins in.

As the other nurses join in at the giggling, Sister Julienne presses her lips together and calls out, "Come Sisters. It is time for compline."


End file.
